Heyo! Here's the first chapter of my new spamano story! Hope you enjoy!
Lovino never expected his quiet night would end with him hiding under a table with a strange man. A man with blood covering his hands. Or that this bloody, curly haired stranger would currently be sitting on top of him. All Lovino expected was that he would show up to Kirkland's pub, down a glass of red, and head home. But of course that wasn't going to happen. Fuck it all.
He swirled the merlot around the glass, watching as a small whirlpool formed. The lazy action was hypnotizing and a welcomed distraction.
"So I get home, and the damn potato bastard is standing in his boxers! And of course Feliciano screams and lets go of the damn pigeon... I hope I never relive that," Lovino huffed, placing the glass down with a soft clink. Arthur Kirkland, the bar keep and the closest thing one could call a friend, nodded in agreement as he polished the counter with an old rag. The dim lights bounced off the shiny surface.
"I understand. After the goat incident," he shivered at the memory, "I'll never be able to watch Sherlock without remembering Alfred-" Arthur was interrupted by a large crash as two men pushed up against the bar. They were throwing vicious punches while screaming in what sounded like turkish. The whole pub was yelling at this point, a few picking up stools and various glassware.
"Bollocks! Everyone settle down! Settle down! Bloody hell!" Kirkland's futile attempt as calming everyone down was drowned out by the curses. Someone was thrown into my back and suddenly I wasn't on the wooden bar stool. No, my ass was on the floor, wine covering my shirt, glass shards scattered on the ground in a halo. My drink must've been swept off the counter. Damnit that was expensive! A scowl played across my features. Fuck this. Fuck them. Gripping the counter I pulled myself up. Taking great care in avoiding the glass shards. Now where's that bastard?
"YOU BLOODY FROG PUT THAT CHAIR DOWN!" Arthur shouted from across the room. I turned towards his voice, ready to throw a punch. A blonde, fairly drunk man was standing on a table a few feet away. A chair was held high above his head, making him fairly unbalanced. He too turned towards the fuming english man, but the quick movement sent the chair and man crashing to the ground. No, towards me! Before I could move, or scream, or flail, I was dragged to the side, landing on my ass for the second time tonight. Fuck! A figure scrambled in front of me, pressing my frame into the wall under a table.
"Get the FUCK OFF ME BASTARD!" I shrieked, kicking out at the man. He turned and my complaints quickly dissipated. The first thing I noticed were his chocolate brown curls matted with sweat dangling in front of piercing green eyes. Brighter than Kirkland's. Down a little farther was a strong nose that I imagined curved nicely if it wasn't rapidly swelling and covered in blood.
"Hola! Sorry about Françis there, I'll introduce you once he's not drunk sometime!" The man smiled a wide smile, laughter filling his eyes. He wiped a bloody hand down his pant leg and held it out.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Antonio Fernández Carriedo. And you, my handsome amigo?" I was completely flustered, cheeks growing warmer by the second. So without thinking I did the stupidest thing I've ever done.
"Lovino, what's it to you bastard?"
His smile grew even wider.
TADA! Please leave me your opinion, what would you change, what do you want to happen? All the good stuff.